Passive Manipulator

Passive Manipulator

Passive Manipulator
think you know better.
Twisting my words for your gain.

Taking my beauty
and turning it against me
taking my creation to imbue such pain.

You say you don't do it
but you take the things that are mine:
my ideas and thoughts,
and try to tarnish them with dirty cloth.

Oh Passive Manipulator
I thought you knew better.
Thinking you don't when you do.

-Matthew Koutzun

Our Short Visit

Our Short Visit

It's nice to know you still visit
long after I've left.
I visit too
hoping to find something
never here at the right time.

I find it hard to know you still visit
long after I leave.
I don't wait either
it's not your fault
nor can I find any fault in me.

The place we come to visit
long after we left;
it's nice
but we know it:
it couldn't sustain itself for long.

But lets both know we visit
after it's been too long.
Lets both know
we can visit
even though we've been here all along.

-Matthew Koutzun

The Conundrum of the Mold

The Conundrum of the Mold

From the ash and mud
god made a son
and admired at such invested heart-
"Till the Devil whispered behind the leaves,
'It's pretty, but is it Art?'"

God looked to him
and was shocked
although he new well of horned game-
He though awhile and probed his way,
"It is, but what's your aim?"

The Devil smirked
and raised his brow
he knew he ought to dig again-
but he thought a moment and all he said was,
"I leave that to you my friend."

God was confused
what could it mean
he pondered at his creation-
he saw what looks
and hear what sounds
and felt what emotions
human hid.

And he came back to the Devil
creation in hand
head held low and with shame-
He knew the answer to the riddle,
"It's a forgery in my name."

And the Devil laughed
oh a mighty laugh
at how God must have felt-
He looked at him and confessed it all
"Such a fool to make yourself!"

And God looked up
and a same smirk formed
as he came by the devils ear just to part-
and from the leaves God questioned him of error:
"It's pretty, but is it art?"

-Matthew Koutzun


The excerpt "Till the Devil whispered behind the leaves, 'It's pretty, but is it Art?'" is taken from Orson Welles' "F for Fake" as read from Rudyard Kipling's "The Conundrum of the Workshops". I had just watched "F for Fake" today and it etched a very neat question in my brain about forgery and art and whether authorship is necessary in its dealings. I can't answer those questions here but I certainly can, but I leave you to watch the film and then question yourself from there before you respond- if you do. But even so, I hope you like the poem. Goodnight. I try not to lie to you.

In this no ones home.

In this no ones home.

Lets just leave
while the going's good-
while the chairs are empty,
and no one's home.

Let's just leave
the parlor and the room-
the lights are off,
and no one's home.

Lets just leave
while there's still time-
the furniture's covered,
and no one's home.

Lets just leave
it all at that-
I'm not returning,
and no one's home.

Let's just leave
since it's over-
it only was an empty time,
and no one's home.

Let's just leave
no hurt feelings-
the boxes never unpacked
in this no ones home.

-Matthew Koutzun

The List

The List

The list is quite demanding:
organizing change.
It's optical
and ever waiting
there on the page before me.
I've written them
and they are daunting.
They'll never be erased
if I don't stick to them soon.
So I start a spreadsheet
and list the demands.
Oh, I'll be changing.
Soon.

-Matthew Koutzun

Cosmos Girl

Cosmos Girl

Where's my girl
with her head in the stars
and her eyes
that are nova bright?

I went away
on an asteriod
far into space
to galaxy not far away.

I wonder
about that girl
and her black hole soul
hungry for more than the stars.

And now
I'm back home
and I wonder where she goes
perhaps she burned up in her blaze.

-Matthew Koutzun

My Thoughts are Not My Own

My Thoughts are Not My Own

My thoughts are not my own,
I think.

I hide them,
and still,
I think they can hear.

On the bus
they hear my rude comments.

As I look,
I see them,
just as they turn away.

I force myself to stop thinking,
I think.

But the very act:
trying,
has made me lose again.

Only when I forget these things
do I forget to think.

-Matthew Koutzun

They May Find You

They May Find You

Where did you go
that you could come back?
I thought I blocked the roads.

You crept on in-
in dreams of night;
where I am most still.

Back you came
like never gone
feeling like the norm.

But mid-dream I think
and realize
why I barred the roads at all.

Because I can't have this
and it's just not right
to be pulled back in again.

I'll remember you
and all you've done
and I'll have to forget again.

I've forgotten once.
I can't again.
I just don't have the strength.

So come on in,
and visit quick-
and then be on your way.

-Matthew Koutzun

Out There

Out There

If your out there,
and your hiding,
and your watching
please come out and find me.

I've heard your breathing,
and your weaving,
behind my back
and heat on cheek.

So if your out there,
and your fearing,
and disbelieving
believe I'm out here too.

-Matthew Koutzun

On the 26th

On the 26th

Laying in bed with the pillow against my chest
I begin to fluff it up.
A curve here,
a breast there.
Beat, long legs beside my side.

Oh, gift on the 26th, in the middle of the night,
why do you come to haunt me now?
Long hair, tied with tact
and brisk blue eyes
that smile right back?

My wanderings,
on the 26th ,
you do not let me hide.
If I wanted everything
nothing could I find.

Yet here I do have something,
and more over I want more.
Oh these things
that come and haunt me;
made from shadow and lore of more.

-Matthew Koutzun

On the 24th Evening of December

On the 24th Evening of December

"Do you know what we're getting him dear?
We still need something to him from Santa"

"I'm working on it-
The elves are still in contention."

-Matthew Koutzun

A word from our author...

A word from our author...

Please do not
take all I say
as pure gold.

Do not spin
it into tales
and say they
are apart
of who I am.

They are apart
and they are
also seperate.

They are my life
and they are my
dreaded lies of
what I have,
myself,
spun them to be.

So please do not
shift or think them
too far out of place.

Because, my dear,
that is my job.

-Matthew Koutzun

Please Tell Me

Please Tell Me

Please tell me you've noticed
the anger that undercurrents it all.
Through the jocular jests
and and clamourous kidding
that I build to save your pride.

Please tell me you understand
that you've asked too much
and I can't deliver
and the milk man always knocks twice
when the mice play and he can feed the cat.

Please tell me you're confused
by all I've just wrote
so I don't have to confess
all my shortcomings
and all of them that lie in you.

Please tell me you've forgiven
because it's all I can ask
because I feel-
care, I'm almost there-
they're the only things I ask of you.

-Matthew Koutzun

How Much

How Much

You say, "Jump,"
and I say, "How high?"

Then you say, "Leap,"
and I ask, "How Far?"

And then you say, "Love,"
and then I say, "How Much?"

Then you repeat me to "jump"
and I counter:
"How much faith do you have
that you'll catch me,
once I've jumped as high as I can-
and leaped as far as I can-
and have loved as much as I can?
Can you still catch me
after that: my fall?"

And you stop;
a hundred kilometers beneath me,
staring up at me,
perched on the edge-
you replying:
"I don't know..."

And we stand there a while
before I suddenly announce with a wink:
"I don't know about you,
but I sure hope your lips know CPR."

-Matthew Koutzun

Large Space Between Us (A Responce)

Large Space Between Us (A Responce)

"This large space between us is too much. It's bound to pull us apart sometime. I see it stretching each of our limbs as we hold hands across a continent."

"And is it any different than our tiny space? The one we conquered before. Was that one, how ever tiny, not the same as this?"

"How can it be? Distance or distance?"

"Oh little one. You knew how to crush a tiny space, but the larger space is not distance but time. It's tricked you with kilometers of land."

"I'm not little, nor foolish! This space is not my doing, or your doing, but our doing."

"We said we were ready to face this didn't we, after we beat the tiny space between us."

"Yes, but you didn't say long, only how far."

"Distance or time, what does it matter, when remembering: you are always there?"

-Matthew Koutzun